


To untie the wind

by theseatheseatheopensea



Category: Vèntô Aquilònê - I Trillanti (Song)
Genre: Catholic Imagery, Folklore, Gen, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Poetry, Magical Realism, Mythology - Freeform, Nature, Nature Magic, Non-Linear Narrative, North Wind - Freeform, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sentient Nature, Wind Magic, folk magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 18:31:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20746802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseatheseatheopensea/pseuds/theseatheseatheopensea
Summary: The wind only talks about the wind.





	To untie the wind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chantefable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [chantefable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable) in the [happy_belated_treatmas_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/happy_belated_treatmas_2019) collection. 

> This story was inspired by Roman mythology, Mediterranean and Cantabrian sea feels, and the poem [Weather vane](https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Spanish/EarlyLorca.php#anchor_Toc502827217), by Federico García Lorca. The title refers to a spell used in wind magic. There are many variations of it, but in the way I know it, knots are tied to a string in order to catch the wind, and untied when it needs to be released.
> 
> Hi chantefable: I was so excited when I found your prompt! Your story inspired by this wonderful song has been one my favourite things that I've read this year, and I couldn't resist writing something for it as well. Thank you for such an inspiring prompt, and for sharing your amazing writing! <3

_"You never heard the wind blow._  
_ The wind only talks about the wind._  
_ What you heard from it was a lie,_  
_ And the lie is in you."_

\- Fernando Pessoa: [The keeper of flocks](http://alberto-caeiro.blogspot.com/2006/03/complete-poems.html).

*

Look out. Look out, there is a full moon. There are seven stars. There's a hole in the sky. And maybe, there is no moon. Look out. Look out, the wind is crying. The wind is making a road. I know. I know, and I have to follow.

I know, I go outside. I hear the steps of the wind. I call it, I let it run free. The wind speaks, and I search for it. My mouth catches the ash and the whisper, the whistling sound of the wind. I tie it in my hair. I tie it close, steel and iron and rust, the comb of the wind. The crash of the waves. I tie it in my mouth, and my mouth catches the world.

The wind was the world. The wind _is_ the world. I know. And I don't fight it.

And I catch it. I catch it. The rage of the world. The rage of the sea. Everything I am. Here. Here. _I know you_, I say. And the wind knows it, and I let it go. And now, I am the wind. I am the bird. I am the wind around the wire, around the tree. I am in every place at once. I see red and black and white. But I don't hide. I don't lie.

Look out. I am the secret. I am the feather in the wind. I leave my hiding place. I wait, every morning. I wait to see them, bird steps in the sky. Bird trails, little souls in the wind, finding shelter from the rain. In the wire. I look. I put the bird, up there. I made the sky. I bring the wind. I will call it magic.

I will keep the wind in a box. I will keep the magic. I will leave it behind.

(I light a candle. I want to turn my heart. I want to turn my heart around.)

It's still dark outside, and there is ice and frost in my hair. My mouth is cold and dry, like the wind, the north wind that wounds me with a kiss. I get up, I put my story in the shelf. I walk across the sea, beyond the north. I am everywhere. I want to be touched. I want to be seen. I want—

But there is no moon. And maybe it is not enough. Maybe it is a lie. And maybe I don't belong. And I am here now, but I am nowhere. I wrap the wind around me, like sadness. Like sadness. And I hide the night inside it, where no one can find it.

But no—I don't hide. And I don't lie.

Look out. I hide my night. I want—but I can't have. I can't have it. I can't find it. I wait. And the wind blows, in a warm whisper of dust. It says _I'm sorry_. And it wants to show me a memory, but I don't want to see it.

North wind, it's taken so long. It's been so long. And no, I don't belong here. But if I could, I would. I look up at the sky. I tell you the weather. I tell you—what will happen?

This, this. This is what will happen. Here, here is the wind. In a box, so it won't make me cruel. In a box, in a red string, in my heart.

And maybe it's not too late. And I tell you. And now, I ask you. Tell me, I say. Tell me gently. Tell me, because the moon is red and the moon is broken. The wings of the wind are broken. Let it go, I say. Let me go. Let me go, to long for the sea. To be one with the wind. To talk to it, to listen, to know where it goes.

To turn my heart around.

So I follow the wind. I follow its music. I weave the wind in my beard. I coil it around my fingers. I welcome it, I bring it close, until it is ash and sand and smoke in my mouth, and salt and vinegar under my bed, under my skin. Eagle and crow and black bird in the wind. A pagan Mary, a holy door. A candle for saint Anthony, a candle for saint Jude. A cloud, a feather. One day, two days, three days. Maybe, I hide. I hide it in your mouth. I hide it, a frantic feather in the wind.

But no—I don't lose it. I don't hide.

I awake my quiet skin. I follow the wind, I follow it to where you are. And it takes so long, so long, and maybe I am no one. Maybe I have no soul. Maybe it is only the wind. Maybe I am broken. Maybe I am whole. Whole, in the sky. Maybe, but you will never know it.

No, you will never know it, but my fingers dance. They tell stories. They know. They shape the words, they make birds like black stars. Here, this compass of feather and blood and brittle, brittle bone. This bitter blue gentian root in my mouth. Steel air and steel water and these things, these lost, impossible dreams. Rough and raw and violent, this kiss, like the wind. This wind. Here, here.

Storm blown, storm born. Here, the smoke and the poetry in your mouth, in your hands, now. Now, in the mouth of the wind. Now, you see me. I am alone. You don't see me. You don't see my wings. You never do. But I will bring you near. I will bring you close. And you will call out. You will speak to me. You will speak about the salt and the cloud and the red river. The holy river. Here, you will speak. Now.

Here, now, and the sky is alight. Alive. I touch the trembling stars, I touch the wind. I run within it. I am the wind. I am the wind, tied into the red string, tied around me. The wind bites my hands and my wrists, and I bite it back. I want to live inside of it. I want to find its true face.

Or maybe I want to see it.

Maybe I breathe fire and wind, and I wake you up. And I see you in the stars. And I bind you to the storm. And I set you aflame. And I tell you—and the wind will blow, and it will make you a home, and you will see. Don't fight it. Don't fight it, and you will see.

I tell you—I watch the flight of the birds. I follow the course of the water, with you. I know. I know. But I don't want to know. And I have to go. So I turn away. And I laugh. I laugh with the mouth of the wind. I speak with the tongue of yesterday. I love with the heart of the sea I never forget. I never forget. I am the love, the avalanche, the tide. I love with the heart of the earth. I understand.

I have the key. I lose the key. And the wind comes from nowhere. If the wind comes, I tell you—look out.

Look out and tell me, tell me now, tell me with the song of songs. Bring me, bring me the winter. Bring me _your_ hands. Don't fight me back. Bring me the night. Bring me _this_, and the earth won't bleed. I won't bleed. I won't break. But I will burn. I will burn, if you bring me the fire.

Look, look. The hot wind burns, and the blue flower stings, sharp, sharp. Sharp, the wind beats like a drum. Like a heart. The wind lives here, in this place. The wind only talks about the wind. But I know its heart, and I heard it.

I heard it. I touch the red candle, and I go outside. Are you there, in the fire? And am I? They say that the things that go away never return, but I find it. I find it. I find the feather, a kite in the wind. And I find you. I find the wind. And I heard it say—

In the night, come inside and cradle me. Rise and come, reborn. And touch the wind, and become the wind, and stay. Stay, in the fire within. In the bright eyes of the birds. In the soul of the desert. In these feathers, these hands. I won't bite. The broken wings, close to my heart. Look at them, and I won't bite. But I will burn. And I will hide. I will hide you. I will love _you_, with the heart of the earth.

My mouth is the volcano. My mouth is the wind. And I won't lie. This is what will happen. Tomorrow. Maybe, tomorrow. I will become the earth, I will become the earth over the sea. And there is no wind. And if there is no wind, I will become the feather. I will become the wind, again. And I won't forget the scars.

In the wind. Written in the wind. In the morning, in the sky, the clouds are long and white and they speak and they say a word that is sharp and cold. And I can almost see it, the path of the north wind, delicate whispers of dreams, songs of memories, small, bright smiles, sweet tongues and birds, sharp shapes of forever.

And I heard it say—I heard it. Be my soul. Be my little joy. Be my daylight. Wear the wings and the hands and the mouth of the angel. Bring me to the place beyond the north, bring me to the south, to untie the wind, to try again. Clasp my hands in yours and think of me and cut the string and breathe. Breathe and give me more, and give me more, and give me—

And give me _more_. Bring me the mystery. Bring me the revelation. Walk into the wind and bring me, bring me the unknown. Bring me orange blue north wind flowers, wild and violent like this love that bites, like this truth that burns my mouth, now. Now.

Now, turn my heart. Turn my heart around.

North wind, you heard me. Turn my heart around, and give me the sky. Give me a sky that is burning and alive, a wind that whispers, a wind that is waiting. Bring me more, wild hands, wild heartbeat, wild heart. Wild wind, wild sky, wild sea. Be my little soul. Be my daylight. Bring me the third day, and bring me the red moon, and bring me your heart, and bring me the key, and bring me, and bring me _now_. I heard it say—

But no. No, I said it. And I didn't hide. Bring me the day, I said. Now, I said it. Give me your heart. I said it. And I didn't lie.


End file.
